


Minimizing Cascading Failures: Strengthening Network Support

by Serotonin_Deficient



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 3x06, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Fix-It, Implied Teen Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Past Drug Use, good parenting, pretty standard stuff for canon, yeah i killed Terry and resurrected Laura you should try it sometime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serotonin_Deficient/pseuds/Serotonin_Deficient
Summary: A 3x06-07 fix-it AU! Ian and Mickey are still interrupted the morning after their date, but the consequences are far more wholesome.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & The Milkoviches
Comments: 10
Kudos: 139





	Minimizing Cascading Failures: Strengthening Network Support

“Alright, I gotta get to work,” Ian says from the Milkovich sofa. He’s so pale he’s almost luminescent in the mid-morning light streaming through the gauzy curtains. Mickey can barely believe it. How lucky he is. How perfect last night had been. He doesn’t want it to end… wants Ian to stick around for the whole weekend.

“Alright, just— in a minute, okay?” Mickey swaggers over, naked as the fucking day he was born, prize in hand. He’d chickened out last night, but he’d found the courage now to pull the toy from the shoebox under his bed. The long string of weighted plastic spheres clicks and clacks as he carries them to the centre of the living room. He holds them loosely upwards towards Ian, as if maybe his nonchalance will bolster the limb he’s currently stepping out on. “Wanna do the honours?”

Ian takes the beads, holding them taut for inspection. Then the bastard lifts one end higher than the other, tilting his head and pursing his lips before his eyes light up. “Is it a rosary for giants?”

“No,” Mickey can’t help but smile. Why does he even like this son of a bitch? But he does. He really does.

“Huh?” Ian carries on with the bit, holding the beads up against Mickey's throat like a necklace.

“No,” Mickey repeats, hands lifting, open but defensive. He’s a couple streets over from embarrassed. Vulnerable, at least. It’s not the worst thing in the world, though, being able to laugh with Ian. “No, man, they’re, uh, they're Ben Wa beads.” He realizes that probably doesn’t mean anything to Ian. His smile slips a little, and there’s no backing out of this. He wants to share it. “You shove ‘em in my ass and you pull ‘em out real slow.”

Ian looks taken aback. Fucker’s always had a shit poker face, and Mickey can immediately tell he’s momentarily thrown. Ian composes himself quickly, though. “How is that fun for me?”

“Come on,” Mickey groans, smiling again. There was no definitive yes or no, but Mickey’s not dumb. Ian’s not into it, or not feeling it right now. But the anal beads do what they were intended to do, sort of… Ian’s pushing on Mickey’s back, guiding him to bend over the couch. At least Ian isn’t leaving for work just yet.

And Ian’s balls deep when a key turns in the front door lock and the door opens like a shot. Both boys turn, Ian slightly faster than Mickey. Ian’s already pulling out, one hand covering his dick as he turns to lunge for his clothes. “Fuck!”

“Shit!” Mickey hisses, twisting and falling back onto his ass as he rolls to the far end of the sofa, feet comically in the air for a moment before he crouches behind the coffee table.

“What the fuck?” It’s a woman. She’s barely in her thirties, probably 5 ft 5. Her eyes are attention grabbing, ice blue framed by dark arching brows. Her thin pointed nose, and the perpetual snarl on her dainty lips, are all situated slightly crookedly on broad cheekbones and a strong jaw. Her limp fringe is brushed to the side, long black locks pulled back loosely…. And for a reason only perceptible to herself, she’s rocking a double denim ensemble. She shields her face now, as if blinded by the vision in front of her, surprisingly small hands dotted with premature age and sun damage.

“ _Mom!_ ” Mickey gasps, mortified. They’re all just frozen there for a second, except for a slight turn of Ian’s head as he glances between mother and son.

“Mickey, _what the fuck?_ ” Laura Milkovich matches Mickey’s tone perfectly, both lifelong Chicagoans, both lifelong smokers. He is her’s, she sometimes says. She’d baked him inside of herself. They are one and the same. “Please do not fuckin’ tell me I worked my ass off to give you your own fuckin’ bedroom for you to ruin my couch. Jesus Christ, we all fuckin’ sit there!”

“I-I put a blanket down!” Mickey wants to melt into the floor and die. He reaches a hand to frantically grab for his boxer shorts. His arm is just barely long enough to manage it.

Laura remembers herself enough to reach over and push the front door shut before she peaks back into her living room. It’s immediate regret as there’s still two naked teenagers there. She turns her body away, speaking over her shoulder. “Is that Ian Gallagher?”

“Uh, hi, Mrs. Milkovich…” Ian replies sheepishly, now dressed in his underwear and he’s got one foot in his jeans. “Thought you’d be gone all weekend…”

“Hi, Ian,” Laura sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Right. You ever been on a girls’ weekend, Ian?”

“Uh… no…”

“Well they suck. At least sober.” She unconsciously rubs at her arm, and the ghosts of track mark scars that lurk there under the denim. “Didn’t realize I had to announce myself in my own goddamn house.”

“I’m really…” Ian began, now fully dressed though very rumpled. His face and a substantial part of his neck are bright red. “Uh. I have work, so…”

“Goodbye, Ian. Give my best to the rest of your family.”

“Will do,” Ian says quickly, mushing the two words together as he slips by her and stumbles out the door like he can’t move fast enough. Pussy. Mickey really wishes he could follow.

• • • • •

Mickey’s showered and clothed before his mom comes and sits cross-legged on the bed with him. He can barely look at her, staring down at his hands instead.

“Andy, Denise, and Mel say hi,” Laura says to break the silence.

Mickey just grunts.

“Where’s your sister?”

Mickey grunts again, this time with a shrug.

“Okay, hey,” Laura reaches out, tilting Mickey’s chin up with one knuckle. “Talk to me, kid. Y’re killin’ me.” Mickey’s imagined something like this. Well, obviously not _this_ , but a moment like it. He’s terrified though. Saying it. His mom’s face is so open, and he wants to tell her, he wants to tell her everything…

“Mands’ with Lip,” Mickey finally admits. “Over at the group home.”

“At the—? Oh Christ, fucking _Gallaghers_ …” Laura groans and Mickey can’t help but smile a little. “Time to bite the bullet and fuckin’ move, eh? Get outta this shit neighbourhood, away from the Gallaghers?”

“Might be too late for that…” Mickey chuckles weakly, but it seems to be enough to take away some of the worry lines from between Laura’s eyebrows.

“So it’s serious, huh?”

Mickey thinks about it. “Yeah, I… maybe.” He’s not so good with talking about his feelings. He’s got that from his mom too, no doubt. Laura, Mikhailo, and Amanda: human lock-boxes.

“How long has it been goin’ on?” Laura gestures towards the door, as if to call to mind the scene from earlier.

“Couple years, I guess,” Mickey shrugs.

“So nobody tells me anything around here, huh?” Laura laments, pulling a half squished package of Morley’s from her back pocket and setting about lighting one up. “My boy’s got a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Mickey says quickly. He swallows, thumbing at his lower lip. “He’s not… We don’t got a name for it…”

Laura doesn’t look entirely convinced but she doesn't argue, taking a drag of the cigarette as she thinks. Mickey knows this whole act of hers. He knows she’s afraid, that she’s trying not to screw anything up by saying the wrong thing. “You can trust me, y’know. Us against the world. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” Mickey nods. He does know. And it isn't like not saying it will stop his mom from putting these pieces together. Hell, she already saw the whole puzzle. They’re both quiet again. The house is usually bursting with noise and activity, so the stillness is a little off putting. He reaches out to take the cigarette from her fingers for a drag, and she slaps his hand away quickly followed by a little bark from the back of her throat. That maternal desire for him to succeed where she’s failed.

“I expect you to clean up out there,” Laura stands, pulling her shoulders backwards until there’s a soft popping sound as tension releases from her back. “All those beer bottles and the sofa and shit.”

“Yeah, I will,” Mickey nods. His mom isn’t looking at him any differently. She’s not a prude, there’s no surprise in that. But he thinks the gay sex should have rocked her a little. She stares down at him with the same eyes, that same ferocity that either leans towards devotion or fury. He runs his fingertips over the writing on his knuckles. He can clearly remember how mad she had been when he’d gotten the tattoos there.

But she’s not mad now. Not disgusted, either. She’s going to start peeling potatoes for dinner, she says. Like it’s any other day. She’s got her hand on the doorframe. Mickey’s heart pounds in his chest. He stands so abruptly he nearly topples over his bedside lamp.

“Mama?” He hasn’t called her this since he was small. Laura turns, eyes round, mouth minimally ajar. Mickey takes a deep, shaking breath. “I just… I just wanted you to know… I’m fucking gay.” He swallows thickly. “Big ol’ ‘mo. Thought you should know that.”

Laura stands there for a little longer before she smiles slightly. “You dramatic asshole…” She shakes her head, crossing over to kiss his forehead and wrap her arms around him. Mickey’s quick to press his face against her shoulder. “I don’t have’ta worry about this weird incestuous shit with Ian and Amanda, and then you and Ian, and then Amanda and Philip, right?” He can’t help but laugh. He laughs until his eyes prickle with salty tears. His mom’s embrace is firm and she smells like tobacco, and cheap gas station car air freshener, and _home_.

“I’ll tell ya all about it, Ma.”

• • • • •

Mickey can hear the sound of sneakers slapping against concrete before he sees who they belong to. He doesn’t really need to see, though. He knows who it is. Only Ian Gallagher walks around like he’s marching in a parade. He spots Ian emerging around the ancient refrigerator that’s somehow been dragged up all these stairs. Mickey adjusts his form, his grip on the pistol, where his feet are placed. Ian’s a bit of a snob after all his ROTC, but Mickey wants to impress anyway. He keeps his eyes on the target; it’s a beat up old Cabbage Patch Kid he found, and he wants to make sure he gets her between the eyes while Ian can see.

Ian passes behind him and Mickey misses completely, a chunk of brick and dust falling off the wall, which is really fucking annoying. He thinks Ian’s shirt is a size too small. Thank _god_ for Lip’s hand-me-downs.

“Guess I really should have left when I said I was gonna leave, huh?” Ian smiles, goofy and uncertain. 

Mickey shoots the wall in response, and the little Cabbage Bitch smiles back at him.

Ian shrugs. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay,” He crosses his arms and leans against one of the many graffiti tagged walls. Urgh, he’s so _goddamn_ cute. “Every time I go to jerk off I close my eyes and your mom is there.”

Mickey snorts, surprised. He lowers the gun and turns to smirk over at Ian. “Hey, if you weren’t so fucking gay I’d beat the shit outta you for that.”

Ian beams, and it’s sure as shit bright enough for Mickey to forget it is overcast outside. “So you really are okay?”

“Yeah…” Mickey nods, hesitant. “Y’know. I’m too old to ground, Ma says. I gotta keep all fucking to my bedroom. And ‘m sure she’ll be takin’ the piss for awhile…”

“Well… that’s it? I thought… I was kind of expecting something bigger. Like making you one of those young homeless gay statistics?”

Mickey scowls and flips his middle finger up at Ian. “My mom isn’t like that, asshole.”

“Yeah, I know… hey, hey, I think Laura’s great.” There Ian was, all bold, callin’ her ‘Laura’. Mickey could still hear Ian squeakily calling her ‘Mrs. Milkovich’ at the back of his head. “You were just so afraid to tell her, I figured—”

“Um, what? Who was afraid? You ran outta there with your shoes in your hands. I’m holding a fuckin’ gun, douchebag, d’you maybe wanna tone this down a little?” Mickey irately waves his free hand at Ian.

Ian just laughs. It should piss Mickey off, having Ian find his irritation amusing, but it just has his abdomen flipping about like a fish.

“She wants you to come over for dinner sometime.”

That has Ian stop laughing, and Mickey smirks victoriously. Ian did the whole dinner thing when he’d been ‘dating’ Mandy. Laura had basically threatened to pull him apart and piece him back together like a jigsaw if he tried anything funny. Their new slow cooker had worked pretty good though, back then. Mickey remembers liking the chicken.

“But she knows me…” Ian argues, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m just passin’ along the message, red.” Mickey gave Ian’s chest a little shove, letting his hand linger. “You gonna come?”

“Maybe after all this shit with CPS. Fi’s goin’ for custody.”

“Shit, really?” Mickey’s eyebrows raise. “Ain’t Lip gonna be eighteen in March?”

“Yeah, he’s not excited. But it’ll be good for the kids. Havin’ a responsible adult be in charge.” Ian shrugs. Then his demeanour changes, shoulders relaxing. Mickey can tell the time for talking about serious shit has come and gone. “Want me to show you how to shoot that thing?” The suggestive quality of Ian's voice has Mickey rolling his eyes. Oh boy.

“No thanks, G.I. Jane,” Mickey scoffs, but Ian is already wrapping his arms around him like this is a romcom sponsored by the NRA. Or maybe a gay porno inspired by a straight romcom sponsored by the NRA.

“You’re gonna want to have your legs a little further apart, and turn this back foot forty-five degrees,” Ian says, basically sticking his leg in between Mickey’s to nudge him into place. “Unlock this arm, that’s your support, yeah… lean that shoulder towards the gun, and resist with your other hand…” Honestly Mickey is finding this push and pull of Ian moulding him into place really fucking sexy. “It’s called The Weaver.”

And there it was. “ _God_ , you make everything sound so fuckin’ uncool.”

“Aim your gun and fire, dick,” Ian laughs.

Mickey grumbles, taking a second to get used to Ian clinging to his back like a lemur and the awkward way Ian’s put his feet. He takes a slow breath… two, three, four… Fire! And _bam_ , right in her stupid smug little mouth! He grins, and expects Ian to cheer. Instead Ian’s mouth is sucking onto his neck like a vampire, and he can feel hips grinding against his ass from behind. “Oh, so this is, like, a turn-on for you, huh?” Mickey smirks. “Little firing range fantasy?”

“Student/teacher,” Ian breathes hotly against his ear. “Got some other tricks to show you, Private.”

Mickey’s laugh turns into a whine. It’s ridiculous and hot and stupid and amazing. Ian’s still there, and Mickey’s gay and maybe he fucking loves him. Who knows.

**Author's Note:**

> If you do math or remember Mandy talking about Mama Milkovich in 3x01 you'll find Laura was 13 when she had Mickey. Very icky, we hate Terry in this house. You can imagine he died awhile ago. Everyone is better off. 
> 
> Denise, Melanie and Andrea are Joey, Collin, and Iggy's moms respectively. 
> 
> I really just wrote this as an excuse to talk about Laura, sandwiched between some fluffy Gallavich romance. It's the first fic I've written in years, I hope you liked it!


End file.
